XVI.

Xander sat. He glanced at the door to make sure she was busy in there, then lifted his eye patch and rubbed gently around the socket. They had told him he could get a glass eye fitted, there was no physical damage preventing it, but he was never able to stomach putting something cold and hard into his head, on purpose, like that. It gave him the wiggins so much he had finally decided to stick with the patch. He settled it back into place.

He felt his watch. It was almost 3 o'clock. About twenty-four hours earlier, he had picked up his friend Dawn at the airport for a visit. Twenty-six hours ago he had been shopping for a few things to make her feel at home, wondering how long she would stay, wondering if like Willow and Buffy she would be heading out soon for whatever life she was making for herself.

Now she was singing in his shower, something classic and torchy that he remembered Tara McClay singing. It had been one of those days Willow had sat at the breakfast table looking totally smug and thinking no one knew why she was smiling. A lot had happened since those days, maybe too much. He sat for some time, just letting it all wash over him.

Dawn's cell, sitting on the coffee table, started to ring. She was still singing, and Xander decided he'd check the caller ID before he got her out to answer it. It was a number he knew, the office at her school. Maybe she forgot something, or maybe they'd found her bag.

He punched the button. "Hello?"

"Who is this?" A young man's voice, suspicious.

"Xander Harris, were you trying to reach Dawn Summers?"

"She's there? Put her on please." This was a very obvious 'polite talking to a grownup' voice. Xander remembered when he'd had that voice for phoning his friends' parents.

"She's sort of indisposed, is it something I can help you with? Is this about her suitcase?"

"Suitcase? Who are you? Put Dawn on the phone." Something in the boy's tone indicated he was not interested in dealing with a flunky. Polite voice dropped so fast it was like he was talking to a different person.

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid I can't do that… Kasey?" Xander's hands were cradling the little phone, as he was trying to resist doing great violence to it.

"This is Kenneth Carl Fox the Third, the person who is going to make your life very unpleasant if you do not stop these games and call Dawn to the phone. I demand you let me speak to Dawnie."

"Listen, Kenneth Carl Fox the Turd, this is Alexander Harris, the man who is going to make your life very short if you do not stop calling Miss Summers. If she wants to talk to you, she will call you. If you call her again, I will be forced to track you down with a sander and a caulking gun. First I'll sand off any bits that stick out regardless of how attached you may be to them, and then I'll fill in any places that stick in, until you are literally one very smooth character? Do I make myself clear?"

There was silence. Xander was standing, shaking, trying not to grind his teeth. He calmed himself and said very evenly, "Do I make - myself - clear?"

"Yessir." Kasey sounded about twelve years old.

"And another thing. Don't call her Dawnie. If you speak to her you will call her Miss Summers. If she wants you to call her anything else she will let you know. Understood?"

"Yessir!" came the immediate reply.

"Good day, sir." Xander snapped the phone closed and glared at it. He missed the old phones that you could slam down when you were finished telling someone off.

"My hero."

He spun. Dawn, wrapped in a towel, another over her neck, was dripping water from her long hair onto the carpet. Her skin was pink and beaded with water, her lips unglossed. She was looking at him with utter seriousness.

"I, um… I thought it was about your bag… I… I'm sorry." He wished she would stop looking at him like that. It was beginning to freak him out.

"Seriously, thank you." She crossed to him and threw her arms around him. Her wet hair spread across his shirt and her cool little mouth kissed his jaw as she hugged him. "I heard it all. I was dreading talking to him again, and then you rescued me." She kissed him again, on his neck.

"Thank you."

"Dawn, it's okay. He just made me so mad, like he could order you around. What he did to you…" He stopped talking. She probably did not want to be reminded of him, of what had happened. Of course, they'd have to talk to him eventually. A father has certain rights, or at least the right to prove he is a father and not just a sperm donor with legs.

"You love me?" Her voice was soft, almost a whisper. It was not a question.

"I do." He closed his eyes and held her, just feeling her breathe against him.

"Am I pretty?"

"Are you…? Are you insane? You are the most beautiful woman I've ever known… and that's just on the inside. The outside is pretty nifty too."

She lowered her hands and pinched him hard on the bottom. Wow, he had a really firm ass. It made her wonder, is there a drywall-hanging workout, like tae bo but you get new room dividers when you're done. In Beverly Hills they could probably sell it.

"Hey, hands! Hands!" He sounded almost girly. She loved the way he had no clue how sexy he was. It took him from desirable to adorable. She backed away, hands up.

"Okay, Xander, I surrender. Could you do me a favor please, O Glorious Hero?"

"Um, sure." Her towel was starting to unravel. He willed himself to look away. Really he did. Willing… willing. Still willing, though not actually technically looking away. He cleared his throat. "Uh, a favor?"

"Yeah." She peeled away her towel and tossed it at him as she ducked back into the bedroom. "Take a shower Harris. What, did you sleep in those clothes?"

Laughing, she ducked into the small closet and he heard rustling and rattling as she assembled an outfit in there. He grabbed a pair of boxers and some clean khakis and went to take a shower. His shirt smelled like her hair. He used almost entirely cold water.

XVII.

October 10.

They had spent the evening not discussing anything much. By unspoken agreement, they both shied away from serious topics. There was a lot of music, nothing fancy, just softly playing to cover some of the lulls. Chitchat about school. Xander admitted he thought some times about going back to school.

They had decided not to go out. Xander had made an omelet with a little of this and that from the fridge. She'd called Willow to let her know that things were okay and that she had arrived. Further explanations were spared through the miracle of voicemail.

About 10 o'clock, Xander had offered to let her have first use of the bathroom, but she had declined. He'd changed into a clean t-shirt and a pair of plaid flannel boxers, and then let her have the bathroom to herself. While she did whatever it is beautiful women do in the bathroom for an hour before bedtime, he'd put a sheet and blanket on the sofa and laid down on top of them to wait for her to come out.

A few minutes later, Dawn had called softly, "Xander? How soon do we need to get up tomorrow?" No answer. "Xander?" She came out of the bathroom, her hair brushed and shining, her nails scrubbed clean, her breath sweet. She was wearing the green Escada gown and was even more beautiful than she was nervous.

She saw him lying on the coach. Saw the sheet and blanket. Looked to his queen-sized bed, empty. She'd called softly, "Xand? Do you, um want to… I thought maybe… Oh."

As she came into the living room she had seen he was fast asleep. He looked peaceful, untroubled, with the worry lines smoothing from his face and a faint rumbling snore coming from somewhere down in his chest.

"Well. Craptacular." She'd pouted for a moment, then changed back into a plain nightshirt. She fell asleep in minutes, her green gown neatly folded and tucked away in the closet with her things.

With Disney day upon them, they decided to hit Not Warner Brothers' on the way to the park. Dawn was driving, wearing a smart pair of purple shorts with a deep blue sleeveless top. She had a white sweater tied around her waist and looked like something from a catalog.

Xander, somewhat concerned about looking like a cast member at Disneyland, was wearing blue jeans, much faded. Sturdy work boots, and a Pittsburgh baseball jersey and cap that he'd bought at a memorabilia store once while out shopping with Willow and Kennedy. With the hat pulled low down and a bit to the side, his eye patch was a lot less noticeable.

They made a lightning dash into Pop's and picked up a bag of bagels and some cups of juice. Nothing from a can for Pop's friends, this juice had been alive and on the hoof not two hours before. He wished them a good time and shooed them out so they might beat traffic.

Disneyland was fun. It sounds silly, but after all they had seen, there was something refreshing about a place that was completely artificial, like Washington D.C., but completely safe, like… similes failed. Neither of them could recall ever having felt completely safe.

It was a musical montage of a day. Rides, autographs from Mickey and Minnie (the latter of whom just might have been a Brachen demon. Hard to be sure under those costumes). The twirling teacups ride.

It was early evening, at the Big Thunder Mountain Railroad ride, that things went off track, as it were. Dawn grabbed Xander's hand and pulled him towards the ride, eager to take a spin on the runaway mine train. Xander hung back, reading the standard disclaimers. "Do not ride this ride if you are too fat, too short, have a broken back, are a personal injury attorney, are pregnant with the spawn of a Yalie scumbag…" Yep, there it was.

"Hey Dawn, maybe we should hit the carousel. You know, small-small world? Something like that?"

"Oh come on you big baby, let's saddle up! Come on!" She pulled.

He pulled back. "Hey. We can't ride this, okay?" She was strong for a girl her size and age, but there was way too much Xander for her to drag him along against his will.

She put her hands on her hips. "Xander? What's wrong with you, it's going to be fun. I promise to hold your hand for any scary parts okay?" She was puzzled, and stayed half turned towards the line to the ride.

"Dawn. No." She wasn't going to drop it. He sighed, and then got her by her hips and with a little lift and turn plopped her onto a railing face to face with him so they could talk somewhat less obviously.

"I didn't want to say anything, but if you aren't going to be careful and take care of yourself I will. I can't let you do this."

She looked at him in shock. "Are you mental? Hello? It's a ride Xander. 10 year olds are riding it and bitching that it's lame. What are you trying to do?"

They both turned as a father and son, a boy of about eight, both wearing Mickey ears and both sporting noticeable tails peeking out of their Old Navy cargo shorts, walked by and got into line for the Big Thunder Mountain.

"Nuh'Awksen demons?" Xander wondered.

"Yeah. Peaceful, live in small clans from here down into Baja California. And love totally safe, lame roller coasters." She was angry and her lower lip was starting to pout out.

Xander looked her right in the eye, shaking his head slowly. "I know you are fearless. You are young and nothing can hurt you. Well, this isn't about you, okay? I didn't want to say anything, but the other morning, I saw your test. It was in my trash and I knocked it over."

She looked at him in shock. Her shoulders slumped and she seemed to get smaller somehow.

"How could you…? That was private. That was my own personal private thing, how could you do that?"

"Well, it was an accident, but I did it. And I saw the results. I can't let you ride on this ride and risk getting hurt. I may seem like a wet blanket or whatever, but I can't let you do anything that might hurt your baby."

"My baby?" her voice was cold and her eyes narrowed. "So you're doing all this for my, for my baby, is that it? Just looking out for Dawnie and her baby?"

"I just want you to be okay, Dawn. All I've ever wanted is to look out for you, don't you see?"

She pushed off of the railing and bulled right into him, stretching up to put her nose right up to his. "Well lucky me. Thank the Goddess poor Dawnie Summers has the One Who Sees looking out for her, with his great big all-seeing eye!" She was so mad flecks of saliva were catching at the corners of her mouth. Slender as she was, she was backing him up quickly, her voice rising.

"It sure is lucky you're here to make little Dawnie think you love her, 'cause then she won't do anything stupid like get pregnant or date or have an original thought, and if she does, hey! You'll just make her fall in love with you so she does whatever you want. Was it hard, thinking up what to say, or have you had that ready all these years in case I ever needed protecting?"

"That's not fair! It's not like that."

"Not like that." She rocked back, her hands on her hips, and tossed her hair as she studied him. "Golly gee, Alexander LaVelle Harris, let me give you two pieces of advice in dealing with addlebrained pregnant teens…" People were starting to stare. This kind of thing doesn't happen at Disneyland.

"Number one, read the freaking instruction on the test next time and note that you have to read it within 30 minutes, you know why?" She jabbed in the chest with her finger. "Tell him, Bill Nye the Science Guy. 'Cause after about half an hour they all turn blue and light up with little plusses. That brings us to number two."

She poked him hard. He was now backed against the railing on the far side of the walkway from where they had started. "Number two," she poked again, "when your girl figures out that you are playing her, because you feel it's the noble thing to do, make your life easy and don't try to find her. She may remember a little bit of magic Willow taught her and make you as miserable as, as… as she is!" With that she slapped him hard across the face, her palm exploding against his cheek and sending his hat flying and his eye patch askew. She faltered for just a second looking at the hollow that should have held another perfect soulful brown eye, but didn't. Then the tears came past her anger and she ran off into the crowd.

He started to follow, then went to grab his hat, then thought "To hell with the hat…" and took a few steps after her, trying to fix his eye patch, calling out to her. He heard and felt a crunch and looked down. His car keys, dropped a few steps from him as she ran, were under his boot.

"Dawn? Dawn!" There was no answer, just a surge of crowds enjoying the perfect sunny day.

XVIII.

He tried her cell phone, she didn't answer. He left a message, begging her to pickup, to let him explain. He walked the park back and forth till he started to get looks from the most discrete security force in the world. He went to the car, no note. He called the apartment. Nothing.

The drive home through late rush hour did not improve his mood. He was a wreck by the time he got to the apartment. He ran inside, calling her name. All her things were there, everything where they had left it this morning. And in the bag, in the trash, in the bathroom, were the box and the instructions for the EPT.

He sat on the commode seat, reading the instructions and the bright WARNINGS. He read them over and over to see if there was any way she could have been mistaken. The damned things were blurry, how could anyone read them? He wiped the tears from his eye and read them again, and again. Finally, sobbing, he let the box fall from his fingers, and got up to wash his face.

There was still a faint impression of her hand on his cheek. She'd really let him have it. He put his hand over her handprint and backed out of the bathroom. He looked at the bed, then changed his mind and staggered over to the couch before collapsing. He'd hurt, and been hurt, before. This was worse.

He'd seen a terrible future where he drove Anya to ruin by failing her. This was worse. He'd left Anya at the altar. He'd lived through her death in the last stand against the First. This was worse.

He was raggedly breathing, past sobbing, past crying, when his cell phone rang. He opened it and frantically said, "Honey? I'm sorry, I'm so sorry where are you? Hello? Hello?"

"Uh. Okay. I miss you too, Xander. I'm in Rome. Where are you?" a puzzled and slightly excitable voice inquired.

Xander closed his eyes and collapse back into the couch. "Andrew. Hi. What do you want?" He felt his watch. "Isn't it like 5 AM there or something?"

"Very nearly," said Andrew like it was the most exciting thing he'd talked about in weeks. "Giles emailed me, he wanted Buffy to call you but she's on her way to London, must have missed his call. And I thought, hey, I'm up, why don't I call, and then I did, and then you answered and started shouting and calling me 'Honey' which was weird, but kind of nice, and then…"

"Andrew. Andrew!"

"Um, yes?"

"Why did Giles need me?"

"He didn't say, maybe he thought you needed us? You sound not okay."

"No." Xander didn't have the will to explain. "Not okay, but nothing you can do."

Andrew sounded worried. "You want we should send someone? Because I am totally on board with sending some one. I'd come myself but there is this party, and I have a date, but it can completely wait, if a mouseketeer's in trouble the call goes out…"

"Yeah, I know, thanks." He hung up before he'd finished talking.

He opened his phone again. Without looking, he called up the memory, hit speed dial for a hotline number he had never used, never expected to need, since he moved in over a year ago. It rang just once.

"It's Xander. I need… I'm in trouble and I don't know what… yeah, same place. Yeah, door'll be unlocked, so if I don't answer just come in. No, no special weapons. Positive. Bye."

He made his way to the bathroom, knelt with his head to the cool porcelain, and retched. He breathed in slowly, and shuddered again. For twenty minutes he wrung his body inside out, till there was nothing left. He was a hollow shell and if he could have flushed the shell he'd have been inside out and disappeared down the bowl long before.

"Xander?" Strong voice, not deep but powerful.

He raised his head a moment. "In here." He sank again, fighting to get a steady breath in and out. His mouth kept flooding with saliva and he had to keep spitting to keep from retching all over again.

"Wow. You look really, really, not good." There was a strong hand, dark brown and almost gentle, on his arm. He lifted his face to see Robin Wood shaking his head. Wood helped Xander to his feet.

"Whoa. First brush, then talk." Wood's eyes flicked to the mirror. Whenever the chance arose he always checked the mirror, never knowing who might and might not have a reflection. Every once and a while it paid off. He handed Xander a toothbrush.

"That's... that's hers." Xander said tiredly. He grabbed the other brush.

"Oh, it's like that. Better call the little missus and tell her I'm gonna be late."

As Xander brushed his teeth, fighting through the chalky mint flavor, and did his best to clean up, Robin moved into the living room and started talking. He had one of those cordless headsets, no visible phone, just a tiny clip on one ear with a little boom mike along his jaw. Very Impossible Missions Force. In his hands he held a page of instructions for an EPT. He gave a low whistle.

"Hello honey. It's me. Your husband. No the other one. The other one. Very funny. We have a problem. Yeah, but worse than that. No, looks sober, mostly at least. But listen: get over here okay? I may need some backup. And bring some of that green tea from my kit in the car, would you? Yeah. Yeah, hate you too. Bye love."

Xander came out toweling his face, as Wood finished his call.

Wood looked, and held up the EPT sheet and shrugged his shoulders.

"You wanna start, or do we go with torturing it out of you?" Despite serious injuries that had never quite healed, Wood was an imposing figure. Xander also knew that since he'd gotten married Wood was getting more focused, not less. Xander needed that focus.

"I've lost… someone. Someone I need to get back."

They sat, Xander on the couch, Wood on the 'company chair' across the coffee table from him.

"Lost like misplaced, or lost like 'well doesn't she look natural?' Need to know what dimension to be looking on, here." He got out a slim PDA and started making notes.

"A girl. She thinks… she has the wrong idea. I just need to get her back long enough to explain."

"You want me to find a girl, a girl who is upset with you, so you can explain to her she's wrong. You really don't date, do you? Can I ask what she's wrong about, or do I need to?" He waved at the EPT instructions on the table between them.

"She's got to come back, I know she's got to be going crazy. She thinks I don't love her."

Wood's delicate brows arched. "Really, and she is wrong about this? I realize it's been a while since we stopped by, friend, and I'm sorry… but how long have you known about this?"

"Since yesterday mostly."

"Yesterday?" He put the PDA down.

"Or years, you could put down years I guess." Xander closed his eye and leaned back on the couch. He sounded completely at wits' end, as if every action took his last ounce of strength. They sat quietly for a few minutes in silence as Wood waited for Xander to collect himself somewhat.

There was a buzzing, and Wood said, "Excuse me. Hold that slippery thought…" and tapped his earpiece. "Yeah. Number B14, west side of the complex. 'Kay." He looked at Xander. "She'll be here in about ten minutes. So, does this mystery girl have name?"

"Dawn. Dawn Summers."